


It All Begins and Ends in Your Mind

by FoggedReality



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Because its whump get it?, Blood and Violence, Breakup, Emotional Hurt, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I need so much help..., Oddly enough there is fluff, Physical hurt, Random Timelines, Torture, Which I don't do, Whump, no beta we just die, oneshots, tags will be added as it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 18,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggedReality/pseuds/FoggedReality
Summary: Past and present Zane Flynt... the oldest successful living operative has more than a few skeletons in his closet and the physical and mental scars to show for it.For Febuwhump 2021 prompt challenge. Probably mostly rated Teen, but enough language and violence that M is probably a safer overall rating.
Kudos: 18
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	1. Day 1: Mind Control

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters:  
> 1) Torture with Troy Calypso  
> 2) Job gone bad and relationship meltdown  
> 3) Prison with Handsome Jack's behind-the-scenes machinations  
> 4) Shuttle crash as a Dahl soldier, early career  
> 5) Rescue of a child  
> 6) Rampant sleeplessness and hallucinations, with appearances by FL4K and Tannis  
> 7) Eridium poisoning, with Amara, FL4K, and Tannis  
> 8) Gunshot double-drabble  
> 9) Buried alive artwork (mine, link to posting on Tumblr)  
> 10) Drabble with a young witness to a hit  
> 11) Hallucinations of the dead  
> 12) Amnesia short, with the vault hunters and Tannis  
> 13) A painful post-job meeting with Handsome Jack  
> 14) Angsty text messaging with Timothy  
> 15) Escaping Pandora, with Baron Flynt  
> 16) Truth in advertising drabble  
> 17) Self-treatment 'by-the-book'  
> 18) Losing an eye, with Baron and Captain Flynt (Major warnings posted on this one!)  
> 19) Early career military 'training'  
> 20) Betrayal, with brief mentions of Jack (of course)  
> 21) A torturous reunion with Cutlord Karuu  
> 22) Burn scars, courtesy of brother dearest  
> 23) Zer0 finds his partner in a bad way  
> 24) Chapter 12 but from Zane's POV and joined by Moxxi  
> 25) Near-death after a wreck  
> 26) Fluff and reminiscing with Moxxi  
> 27) Musings on betrayal  
> 28) Some grief never really goes away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BL3 AU where Zane is captured and tortured by the Calypsos
> 
> Warnings: Minor torture, mostly implied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first time participating in a challenge. Not sure if I can do all 28 days, but it's an attempt! I did NaNoWriMo, I can do this.
> 
> Since it's all in the same fandom and the same characters, I'm posting as chapters rather than individual stories. One-shots, a few drabbles, and lots of pain and angst. Timeline is all over the place, so don't expect to read as a linear story.
> 
> I have not abandoned my long-fic, but wanted to try this out to capture all the short stories in my head that don't fit in my main.
> 
> Sorry, not sorry. <3

Someone was patting him gently on the cheek, trying to get his attention. He was groggy, and he could taste a metallic tang in the back of his throat that set his teeth on edge. 

“Wakey, wakey, Flynt.”

He really didn’t want to… there was too much he would rather not be awake for ever since he found himself in the clutches of the Calypsos. At least Tannis had escaped, but he was taking the brunt of their anger because of it. 

_It will be over eventually…_

“Eventually” couldn’t come soon enough. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, blinking away the fog. Managing not to groan at the sight of the twins, he turned his head away and concentrated on whatever fresh hell they’d dumped him into. This time, he found himself strapped into a chair, wires trailing from the ports near the base of his skull to a computer terminal where the god king himself sat, tapping away. 

“You in?” Tyreen leered over their captive, close enough to spit on…but that would only lead to a beating. Or worse. 

“Sort of.” 

“What do you mean, sort of? Are you in or not?”

“Old man’s got a shitload of feedback malware in that noggin of his. Everything he has installed is booby trapped.”

Ty snickered, “Booby,” which only caused the pair of them to giggle like the immature children they were. 

“No, but really, even with him out, he’s nearly fried my link. I’ve got an in, but… it’s flimsy.”

“I’ll take flimsy. Do it.”

Shrugging, Troy clicked in a few commands. Zane felt a jolt of electricity burning through his head, making his teeth snap together and every muscle in his body to contract painfully. When his vision cleared, he’d broken one of the straps and had his hand raised to his forehead in a mocking salute. His wrist and hand were bleeding from where the straps had cut into his skin in his effort to free himself, rivulets running down his arm or dripping into his eye. 

The feck…?

His own hand then smacked him on the forehead, and he winced.

“Oooh. It works!”

“To a degree.”

“It only has to last long enough to send him into Sanctuary…”

Troy grinned. “Then, *boom*?”

“Pfft! *Boom* is too easy. I want him to murder the other vault thieves and not be able to do anything about it.”

_Oh hell no!_

“I dunno if I can break through that much…” The keyboard in front of the god king started to smolder and throw off sparks. “What the…?”

There was only so much feedback Zane could intentionally shove back down the wires without a keypad of his own… or without a few additional safety features that he had packed away in his own computer…his own computer, which was still back on Sanctuary. He was risking frying his own fleshy brain in the process…what he was attempting now ran the risk of burning out sensors, his ECHO connection, his earpiece, both inputs, and probably lobotomizing himself at the same time. 

But he was *not* going to be controlled by his own cybernetics. He’d long suspected Jack had done that to Wilhelm, so everything he’d put into his own body had specialized defenses. He’d die or become a vegetable before he let anyone take control of it. At the very least, he’d short circuit something intentionally just to keep it from falling under someone else’s control…and he had. 

Now, though, it was an S.O.S. he was forcing down the wires through his neural ECHO. Not for a rescue. The others had that opportunity and failed miserably. It was simple and to the point, and all he had time for. A single, targeted message…to prepare them for whatever happened. “First opening, shoot. No hesitat…”

Another jolt went through him until he was screaming between clenched teeth. When it finally subsided, Troy was standing over him, grabbing his throat with steel fingers. “No no. Bad vault thief.” He squeezed, and Zane squirmed, struggling for air. “You fried my computer. Good thing I have another. Just means it’ll take some more time to set up, so Ty will have time to play with you while you wait.” 

The self-proclaimed god leaned closer, a scalpel in his other hand, flashing the worn instrument in front of Zane’s good eye. “But… we’re gonna have to remove some pesky hardware first.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could have been a scene out of my main fic, and in my head-canon it's a scene that definitely would have taken place behind the scenes. Not necessary to read that to understand the situation. 
> 
> I hope. 
> 
> That's the intent, anyway. 
> 
> It stands alone, doggone it!


	2. Day 2: "I can't take this anymore."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unpleasant welcome after coming home injured from a job.
> 
> Warnings: Blood, sutures, bad healthcare choices, emotional wreckage, drinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are not in any chronological order in Flynt's life, so there will be lots of jumping around his (very long) timeline.
> 
> As many failed relationships as he has in canon... it only makes sense to include at least one here.

Zane stood in front of the mirror, blood decorating the sink in various shades of red. One smeared handprint marred the silvered surface, but he couldn’t actually look at his reflection. 

Taking a long drink from the whiskey bottle that was perched on the thin shelf of the medicine cabinet, he tried to steady his hands enough to thread a suture needle and try to patch himself up yet again. It hadn’t really gone that badly until the target’s bodyguard got up after being filled full of enough holes to stop a charging bullymong. He didn’t think he’d even have to deal with the bodyguard at all after so cleanly taking out his intended target, but the man took the death of his boss personally.

He finally managed to thread the needle after five trembling tries, then took another swig from the bottle and splashed a decent amount over his side before he gritted his teeth and started sewing the split flesh together again. A whine escaped from between his clenched lips…but it was less about the physical pain and more about the emotional drama. 

_He’d gone a long way out of his way to make sure he wasn’t followed home. The place was quiet, so she’d already gone to sleep…hopefully, he wouldn’t wake her until he got himself cleaned up, passed out for a little while, and then could calm her concerns when he had a few stims running through his system and was a little less about bleeding all over everything._

_The scream from the entry told him that he’d made too much noise stumbling in. She followed his trail of makeshift bandages and bloodstains, calling his name in a fearful tone, finally pulling open the door to the bath and pausing in horror as she took in the nightmare of red-stained clothes, handprints, bloody towels, and empty hypos._

_Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue…like the sky on Eden where they’d honeymooned. Except now, those eyes were huge, circled in too much white. Her heart-shaped lips parted in a desperate gasp of air and he could see her throat moving as she tried to form something akin to words._

_“It’s nae as bad as it looks, love.”_

_She shook her head as she backed away, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t… I can’t…”_

_“It’s a risk of the job… we’ve talked about this.”_

_At the risk of scaring her more, he stood from where he’d perched on the edge of the tub, moving toward her, but she shook her head harder, pulling at her fingers until she came away with her ring, flinging it into the sink where it spun a few times before settling into the ichor running slowly down the drain._

_“I can’t, Zane. I… can’t take this anymore. Not knowing if you’re going to come home at all. I’ve tried. I’ve tried, and this… I can’t. I’m sorry.”_

She’d flung clothes and a few belongings into a bag and fled. 

He’d listened to the door closing behind her, part of him screaming to go after her… but he knew he wouldn’t. Knew he couldn’t. What was he going to do, find a straight, normal job in one of the big corps? It would never happen…all of them knew his reputation. They’d throw him into a uniform and put him on the front lines of whatever war they were waging with the population of the planet they’d decided to invade that week… at minimum. Been there, done that. At worst, he’d end up some CEO’s personal bodyguard, and in the same position as the poor schlub he’d finally managed to kill earlier today, brains splattered all over the sidewalk. 

With his knife, he cut the thread and poured another splash of alcohol over the stitched wound, throwing the tools into the sink along with her ring. Sinking to the floor, he raised the bottle still grasped in his hand in a mock toast before pressing it to his lips to drain.

“To living another day.”

_Alone._


	3. Day 3: Imprisonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane finds himself in deeper than he expected during a stint in the infamous Friendship Gulag.
> 
> Warnings: Blood, graphic stabbing, vomit, beatings, implied torture, implied non-con

“We’ve caught ourselves a prettyboy.”

He wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to get himself cornered by the biggest gents in the yard, but it was too late to do much more than hope he could talk his way out of it… although he didn't think honeyed words would do much more than encourage them. 

The job he’d let himself get arrested to do wasn’t going to be all that difficult, really. People were shanked in Pandoran prisons all the time, especially in this gods-forsaken lockup. Zane had already witnessed three separate knifings, one shanking, and two sharpened bludgeonings…and that was just in the first hour. The guards didn’t seem to care one way or the other. Fewer mouths to feed, fewer heads to count, fewer chances of being jumped by lifers.

_“Friendship Gulag,” my ass._

He should have insisted on going in as a guard, but Jack seemed to think it was funnier if he took the contract as a prisoner. For that matter, Zane didn’t know why the Hyperion CEO couldn’t just order an execution. It was _his_ fecking prison. But he’d offered twice the bounty for this particular little twist, so the operative suspected Jack was simply bored out of his mind and wanted his favorite assassin to entertain him for a while. The man had been getting more and more eccentric in his jobs lately…and were a hundred times more dangerous, too. Zane knew of at least two other operatives who had made the error of turning in a formal resignation. Both of them had been found mangled and displayed in very public venues. The point had been made, although afterwards, more than a few quit a little more quietly. After that, the number of Hyperion bounties on former bounty hunters had also gone up. Coincidence?

Zane had stayed employed on the side, but only because he was at least as crazy as the Hyperion CEO, and part of him liked the ridiculously difficult jobs Jack offered. The ridiculously large payouts didn’t hurt, either. But lately, it was getting to be too much, and one too many unnecessary close calls had firmed his decision.

If he lived through _this_ job, that is. Maybe this was just Jack’s way of getting rid of him without having to say “you’re fired, jackass,” or “when are you going to realize you’re a washed up old codger.” Just keep sending him out on suicide missions. His luck would run out eventually, right?

It wasn’t looking all that unlucky now as the very man he was hunting parted the goons surrounding him, an overly cocky smirk on his lips. This prisoner just screamed ‘slimeball’… and with the way the others glared behind his back, there would likely be no ill will once he was dispatched from the realm of the living. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the scrawny Flynt. How have you not died yet?”

“Martin, ya sick fuck. It was so good to not see ya for all these years.”

So _maybe_ there was more than one reason for taking this particular bounty when it came up. He really didn’t care to know the gory details, and rejected the pre-contract briefing outright. There wasn’t much that made Zane squick, but Martin was a sicko in more ways than one. “Extreme” didn’t even begin to cover it, and just being near the man now made him want to shudder in revulsion. 

Martin collected dirt under the guise of his own depravities…which he was completely unashamed of. Zane had reluctantly gone to him for info on a target a couple of times when a takedown had to be reputation-ruining rather than dead…but avoided the man whenever possible and had long since found better sources. He and quite a few others in the business were relieved when word got out that Martin had finally been sent to prison. 

Not wanting to drag this out any more than it needed to be, Zane lashed out…but not at Martin. He’d seen the ill-hidden shank in one of the goons’ beltloops, and he hadn’t been here long enough yet to steal or make one of his own. He hadn’t really planned on finding his target this quickly, either…but luck was still on his side. And skill. And good looks. 

He punched the big man in the sweet spot just below the ribcage and just above his ample gut. The goon's eyes bugged out as he doubled over in a mixture of pain and projectile vomit. Zane grabbed the taped up blade shard, spinning out of the way of puke to deftly jam the point deep into Martin’s ear. Letting go of the makeshift handle, he slammed his palm against the taped plastic hilt, driving it nearly all the way through the man’s skull. 

The others were still trying to process what was happening, distracted by their partner’s sudden illness and too slow to react to the death of their leader…Martin hadn’t even fallen over yet, still standing there swaying as his body tried to decide if it was dying or not, even though the brain had already given up. Zane took the opportunity to run…at least he didn’t have to run far, and he was a sprinter. A long stride put him all the way across the yard and back into the semi-security of the main building before everything outside erupted into chaos. 

Sticking his hands in his pockets to hide the blood, he whistled as he strolled back to his cell. Jack would hear about the death, be mightily and rightfully impressed at the speed of the dispatch, and he’d be out and collecting his bounty before evening lockdown.

Guards came and went throughout the rest of the afternoon, but none of them slowed down at his door or even gave him a regulation-required dirty look. Hours ticked by…down to only minutes before lockdown…and the operative was starting to suspect that nothing else about this job was going to work out the way he’d hoped. Thirty seconds…

The goon he’d punched in the yard slipped into the room as the cell doors were sliding shut for the night. 

Shite…

The sound of the entire block locking at once was deafening…but not loud enough to block out the crack of the thug’s knuckles cracking against Zane’s jaw. He didn’t have a glass jaw by any means, but he saw stars and the room swayed sickeningly as the big man caught him in mid-fall and jerked him back to his feet, pulling him in close enough to get a good whiff of rancid breath.

“Jack said to tell you ‘thanks.’” The goon grinned, then smashed his forehead into Zane’s face, shattering his nose before letting him go to crumple to the floor in the cramped little space. “Didn’t say I couldn’t have some payback before I kill you, though…so let’s have some fun.”

“Fun fer you, maybe,” Zane taunted as bloody spittle dripped from between his lips with every word and choked exhalation.

“Oh, it will be, little man. It will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought at the start of writing this day's prompt that it would be a quick little hundred-word drabble...some nonsense about shanking some poor schmuck only so he could make his own escape. BUT...
> 
> That wasn't much in the spirit of whump. And then it developed into *this* whole thing.


	4. Day 4: Impaling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title pretty much says it all.
> 
> Warnings: So very much blood, crash, trauma, near death

Sometimes, there’s no good way out of a bad situation. 

Sometimes, though, you get lucky. 

Today wasn’t that day.

The evac crash had been the pinnacle of one long, fubared mission. Two of the squad had died immediately in the landing…if you could call it a landing. It had been a literal bone-shattering impact…as several of the still-living could now attest. The sarge was half out of his harness, but pinned beneath a collapsed section of the bulkhead and had blissfully passed out, which left only Zane and the greenhorn all too awake and aware. And they had been the lucky ones. The rest of the team hadn't even made it to the shuttle.

The kid was two seats away and half-hidden by the warped metal between them, sobbing in huge, gasping-for-air panicked breaths, struggling with the buckles keeping him trapped in his seat, bloodsoaked fingers unable to find purchase on the slick metal. The seat between them was a mangled mess of metal and bloody limbs that Zane wasn’t entirely sure were still attached to anyone. A crushed hand stuck up between them in a gruesome parody of a wave.

Zane focused on breathing and his own little half-gasps because that was all he could tolerate at a time. Anything deeper, and his vision swam with the pain. He was almost willing to give his good eye for a dose of painkillers right now, but the medpacks were out of reach…if that section of their shuttle was even attached anymore. So he stayed put, involuntarily reclined, thumbs hooked into the mesh of his own safety harness, but he hadn’t attempted to disengage it yet. Gravity was keeping him in his seat and on his back, and under the circumstances, it was probably best not to move around more than necessary.

“Hey, kid?”

“Nnnnn…nooot a ffufufuckn kid!”

To Zane’s ears, that was immensely reassuring…the greenhorn hadn’t entirely lost it. Maybe they could get out of here after all. 

“Yer right. Grant, yeah?” Normally, he didn’t bother keeping track of the trainees’ names. Sure, that had been him just a few short years ago, but he’d lived and so many others hadn’t.Much like the veterans, he got tired of learning the newbies’ names just to watch them die within the month or go AWOL because they realized they weren’t cut out for this kind of life. He’d been the same. His own sergeant hadn’t even bothered to learn his name till he’d been with the squad for over a year. He’d usually been “kid,” “blondie,” or “douchebag,” depending on how pissed the man had been at the time.

“Yyyeah.”

“We’re okay. Hear me? We’re alive, and that’s a feck sight better than ever’one else on this bucket a bolts.”

Grant took a deep breath and stopped trying to get out of his harness. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.” 

“Sarge is out cold, so we’re gonna take stock. How bad are you hurt?”

The kid was quiet for a minute… Zane was still going to think of him as a kid even though he was barely older than the dark-haired youth. Anyone who had been in spec ops for as little time as Grant was going to stay ‘kid’ till they caught a few more nightmare missions under their belt. “Not… bad, I think? I mean… it all fuckin’ hurts.”

“But you can move?

“Yeah.” Some of his clarity was coming back, and he’d stopped gasping, which was also a good sign. “Don’t think most of the blood is mine… ow… okay, a little. Some shrapnel…but not too bad.”

“Good, good. Wipe off yer fingers on yer armor, then wipe yer sleeves across the buckles on yer harness. Should get most of the blood off so you can release the safeties. Everything locks down hard on a crash so we dunnae have bodies flying around.”

“Sounds like you’ve been through one of these before.”

“Aye… can’t call yerself a seasoned merc till you’ve been through at least one dropship crash.” His throat seized up and he very much needed to cough after all that exposition, but honestly, he was afraid of what would happen if he did.

“Guess I graduated early, then.” The kid chuckled, and Zane gritted his teeth against the nearly involuntary bark of his own laughter that followed. He went back to silently concentrating on taking shallow breaths while he listened to Grant fumble with the catches, managing a pained smile when he heard the series of clicks and a triumphant grunt. 

“You okay, man?” the kid called over. “Your harness busted?”

“Something like that.” 

Grant struggled for a minute to stand up… harder than it would be normally since the shuttle was listing on its side instead of right-side-up. Not that it mattered in flight, but on the ground, it was entirely another matter. When he popped his blood-spattered face over what was left of the merc between them, his anxious eyes went wide. 

“Oh, shit. Flynt…”

Mildly surprised that the kid knew his name, Zane waved him off. “I’m still breathin. Go check on the Sarge. I dunno if he still is.”

“You’re not gonna be for long, man. Let me…”

“Go! Not like I’m goin’ anywhere.” Which was an understatement. His harness had worked just fine, keeping him in his seat and safe, although he could tell a couple of ribs were busted from the landing. All good except for the aptly named ‘oh shit’ bar over the hatch which had broken off in a ragged shard and fallen like a spear straight through his chest, impaling him onto the chair below. At some point in the not to distant future, he would start drowning in his own blood… but not yet. His body was still trying to convince itself that it was just a minor inconvenience until something forced him to move, which would shift the bar and throw off the precious balancing act that was so far keeping him from bleeding out.

The current ceiling used to be the row of seats across from them, so navigating the wall-as-floor was not easy, either, the kid stepping over chunks of metal, still sparking electronic component,s and trying not to slip in the puddles and splashes of blood and leaking fluid that seemed to be everywhere. Grant managed to work his way over to their pinned leader.

“He’s breathin!”

“Good, good. Med packs anywhere in reach?”

“I don’t… wait, there it is. Give me a sec… no, it’s caught in the… hang on.” Grant started yanking on the strap of the medkit, but it was hung in one of the mangled shelving units. 

“Just unfasten th’ thing, kid, fer th’ love of pete.”

“Ain’t a kid,” the kid muttered, but took his advice and opened the casing instead of trying to jerk it free. A few vials fell out, along with an unraveling pack of bandages and suture tools. “Shit!” He frantically scrambled to pick up the dropped items, but several of the glass vials had broken, and he was starting to melt down again over the loss. “There’s only ttttwo… only two leftttt.”

Zane closed his eyes and bit down the initial burst of anger at the greenhorn’s clumsiness, but… he doubted he would have done much better in his condition and if he’d been as new at the gig as Grant was. He took a breath that was unintentionally too deep and sent himself into a coughing fit, agony piercing through his chest as he spit up blood and blacked out for…some amount of time.

When he opened his eyes again the sergeant and the kid were both leaning over him. “Gonna be okay, Flynt. Evac and med team are on the way. Just hang on.”

He nodded, but he was feeling pretty far from okay, and it was too hard to breathe. 

The shuttle shifted violently as the evac team arrived and wrenched off the shredded hatch in their haste. Teeth grinding together against the sudden pain, Zane’s hand shot out and grabbed the kid’s flak vest, yanking him nearly off his feet. He couldn’t breathe any more, his throat was filling up with blood, no longer in that perfectly balanced spot…when the craft had shuddered, the pipe had moved as well. He coughed out a mouthful of crimson, leaving speckles of red across the boy’s face… and right now, he looked every bit an unprepared youth. It was one thing to kill the enemy and entirely another to watch a teammate die in front of you. There was also the expression of guilt beneath the horror…and Zane recognized that he’d used the two unbroken hypos either on himself and the sarge, or both of them to get their leader back on his feet, leaving none to save him now.

He wasn’t trying to scare Grant… he needed to tell him something, but he couldn’t form words… 

He wanted someone to tell Lila that he’d at least died a hero and not in some stupid, random accident. 

_______

  
She was there when he opened his eyes. 

For one ridiculous moment, he wondered why she was at the shuttle. Did they bring her to say goodbye before he died? But no, she was smiling at him, her slender fingers twined with his. 

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself, Zee.”

“I guess I’m alive, then.”

“Sergeant Briggs had lovely things to say about you.”

“I’m sure he was talking ‘bout you.”

“Flatterer.”

“Yep. Marry me.” It was out of his mouth before he could overthink it… or even think about it to begin with…but he didn’t regret it.

“Zane…” she smiled indulgently, “you’re on some very special painkillers right now…”

“Does that mean you won’t?”

“No…it means you won’t remember me telling you ‘yes.’”

Oh…but I’ll remember this, I promise.” He grinned as he drifted off again. “I’ll remember this for the rest of me life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can tell already that I won't be able to keep this pace up after the month is over. I didn't cheat, but I did start this part before February...but finished it tonight. Most prompts definitely won't be quite this long because of time limits and job/family/mealtimes/sleep... you know... life. :)


	5. Day 5: "Take me instead."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple trade is all it is.
> 
> Warnings: Blood, kidnapped child...but not in the same sentence!!!

Palms out and fingers spread to show that he didn’t have a weapon in his hand, Zane approached the gunmen, an innocent expression on his face… or at least as innocent as he could muster for a known merc practically bristling with weapons. Good thing he had charm to spare. 

“Now, now. Let’s not be hasty.” He’d tracked them back to their rendezvous point, a skeezy little bar that was so far out in the middle of nowhere that the place barely had a living bartender, much less patrons. Blue eye flicked to their hostage, patch scanning the little girl for injuries. Except for some bruises from being jerked around by her arm, she seemed to be just fine, all things considered, even though silent tears ran down her face. “We can come to _some_ sort of agreement.”

“Ain’t no agreement!” One of the thugs held the girl in front of himself, using her as a human shield. Zane decided he was going to die first…and painfully at that. “You either brought the old man’s money, or you’re not walkin out of here.”

“See… there’s the thing. The man you stole from? He doesn’t take kindly to you running off with his little girl. In fact, he is…well… _pissed_ is much too nice for what he is. So how about this… you let her go, and take me instead.”

One of the others snorted out a guffaw. “Why would we _ever_ want to do that? You’re even older than the kid’s old man.”

“Because I can make you rich.”

“Nope. She’s already gonna do that.” Mr. Soon-To-Be-Dead gunman shook the little girl to make his point. 

“Not like this.”

“Just fuckin’ kill this idiot already!” Weapons pointed in Zane’s direction, but he raised his hands higher.

“Just... look me up first. Bounty boards. Flynt. Eff. El. Why. Ehn. Tee.”

The kidnappers paused, a few of them exchanging glances before one pulled out his ECHO and punched in the I.D. He frowned over the screen, scrolling through before his eyes widened, showing the screen to his nearby buddies. “Holleeeee…” 

“That ain’t real.” But several of them had dollar signs in their eyes now. 

“Oh, it is. I wish it wasn’t sometimes,” Zane said, letting them decide. “So you let the girl go now, and you can have a real payday. What’dya say?”

The thug closest to Zane dropped the little girl to her feet with a thud. “Beat it, brat!”

Not as abrupt, Zane smiled down at the confused kid. “S’okay, sweetie. There’s a black ‘runner outside with flames painted on the side. Go get in and make yourself small. Cover yer ears, and I’ll be out to take you home in a jiffy.”

The goons all laughed as she fled for the front door, the screen banging shut after her. One of them cracked Zane across the jaw with the butt of his shotgun and the others were on him as soon as he hit the floor, stripping him of his weapons and cuffing his hands behind his back. They were determined to all get a few punches or kicks in before retreating to the bar to raid the liquor and celebrate their soon-to-be filthy-rich good luck.

Sitting up slowly, Zane was laughing even as he spit blood on the floor. 

“What’s funny, dead man?” One of the kidnappers glared in his direction.

“See… you boys are a bunch of amateurs.”

“Luckiest beginners in the galaxy.” Several of them clinked their shot glasses together in celebration. “But how you figure?”

“Well… everyone who’s ever been to Pandora knows the Flynts. And everyone in the merc biz knows each other… or at least _of_ each other.”

“That supposed to be impressive?”

“Maybe a little. See… the Flynts are a crazy bunch. Known to be unstable…unpredictable.”

One of them was frowning now, putting down his shot glass and easing his hand toward his gun.

“And the people that know the youngest?” Zane dangled the now-open cuffs in front of his face with a crooked grin. “Stay the hell out of his way. I promised a father I’d get his little angel back to him, and I always keep my promises.” 

The kidnappers didn’t have time to react before digital claws flared to life from the operative’s gloves and blood began to fly. Bursts of gunfire sent shards of glass and splinters of wood flying through the air.

Thirty seconds later, a blood-splattered operative strode out of the now silent bar, tendrils of lingering powder smoke drifting out into the air behind him. He holstered his reacquired pistol and brushed off the sleeve of his jacket, but it did nothing for the crimson that painted his face and stained his shirt. Walking towards the idling runner, he shrugged out of the spider-emblazoned leather, and pulled the outer shirt over his head, pausing at the driver’s door to wipe the worst of the fight from his face. 

Adjusting his snug-fitting black armor and pasting on a smile, he tossed the bloodied outerwear into the back seat and got in, winking at his passenger. She just stared at him, eyes wide, as if she couldn’t believe _he_ was the one who had walked out and not the brutes who had snatched her. 

“S’okay, little one. Yer da’s in the next town over, waiting. I’m takin’ you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one was a little weird for me and I'm not quite sure why. I liked the idea of a rescue, and it all seems exactly something Zane would do... but does it fit the prompt? 
> 
> Sort of? Does Zane suffer? Well... sure. A little. 
> 
> But, darnit, he'd take a bullet if a child is involved, plus there's only so much my own little Mom heart can take.


	6. Day 6: Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane goes without sleep a bit too long
> 
> Warnings: Extreme sleep deprivation, hallucinations, altered reality, drugging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm behind now, but after two days of migraine, that sort of influenced the next couple of stories as much as the prompts. I'll catch up.

He hadn’t slept in days.

Most of the time, when people said they hadn't slept, it was an exaggeration to emphasize exhaustion, but for Zane, it was quite literal. 

He’d dealt with insomnia for most of his life, and he could attribute most of it to his family and career choices. but this was beyond normal. At some point, the body went on autopilot and forced sleep, even if it was just a few minutes at a time. Even a couple of hours was often enough to keep functioning, even if it wasn’t refreshing. But he hadn’t even had that. 

He still didn’t know what was causing it… stress was the usual. Sometimes it was the let-down after a job… not in the sense that jobs were ever disappointing. But there were always a couple of days afterwards, after all the planning, all the preparation, all the adrenaline…sometimes it was hard to come down from the constant motion.

And Flynt was a man who was always… _always_ … in motion. Except now he needed to _not_ be in motion. He needed to sleep so much it physically hurt. Not sharp pains or aching muscles, just an all-over uncomfortable wrongness.

That wasn’t the worst, really… fine motor functions were shot to hell. He couldn’t even partake in his favorite pastimes. He supposed he could drink….and if he was honest, he had been drinking in an effort to make himself black out. He might have even passed out for a couple of hours, but that had also been several days ago. 

His other go-to was tinkering, improving his gadgets and drones…but that required a steady hand and a lot of concentration, neither of which he had right now.

Moze had made a crack yesterday… _had it been yesterday or longer?_ …about how he looked like a zombie shuffling around. He didn’t think any of them actually knew how long he’d been without sleep, but even in his sluggishness, he could tell they were giving him worried looks when he walked by. Or maybe it was because he was zoning out in the middle of conversations. Not that he didn’t do that sometimes anyway. But when Mr. Chew bit him on the ankle to get his attention and he didn’t react… 

They’d started following him around after that, and it was making him paranoid. He could see them in the shadows, squeezed into little spaces between the pipes…

Spying… they were spying on him. One of them, he wasn’t sure which, had taken his guns, which was quite a feat considering how many he owned. It was probably a conspiracy. They’d turned against him, that _had_ to be it. Or were playing along with the assassins that had been sent after him… letting them get close, distracting him while one of them slipped a knife into his back. 

Maybe they were just feeding the killers info. That would be more likely, wouldn’t it? _Marcus_ … the shyster wouldn’t hesitate to sell them out in a second, and considering the bounty on his handsome head… hell, it would set up everyone on Sanctuary for life. They could probably buy a brand new Sanctuary, for that matter…one that didn’t leak or spew steam from every other pipe… enough steam to hide a killer. 

Except they weren’t being all that quiet anymore, either. He could hear them whispering… but they weren’t whispering to each other, they were whispering to him. Teasing, taunting, sometimes it was just sounds to annoy and distract him. Mimicking people he knew were long gone… but maybe they weren’t quite so gone as he’d once thought. 

He was still holding it together until Captain showed up at his door. The entire hulking mass of his armored bulk, staring down at him, threatening. Zane lashed out, but his reactions were still too slow, too sluggish, and his brother caught his hand in mid-swing like it was nothing. He expected anything, tensed for a broken hand or wrist or arm…anything but the quiet, electronic voice.

“You need help.”

He blinked at his hooded sibling… that was very unlike him. Why hadn’t he pulled a gun on him? That little Matchstick or Sparkler or Tinderstarter or whatever the hell he called that stupid little gun of his. Point blank, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Closing his eyes, he waited for the shot…could almost feel it already, flames crawling up his skin after the bullet hit home.

There really was warmth spreading from his neck, but not upward… down his spine, through his arms… his body was going numb… and it was the most wonderful sensation. With a sigh, he slumped forward into his brother’s strangely solid arms. 

Behind him, Tannis breathed a sigh of relief as FL4K caught their teammate. She held an empty hypodermic in her hand.

“I was a bit worried that wouldn’t work. But he should be out for, well, a while. Once the sedative wears off, he should simply sleep naturally until his body catches itself up…which could be several days. Please don’t let him kill me when he wakes up and finds out I drugged him.”


	7. Day 7: Poisoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always had a headcanon of Zane being allergic to eridium. I have no idea where it came from, it has no basis in anything except a weird idea that got stuck in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two at once to help myself catch up. Probably be another two-chapter day soon so I can be back on track. 
> 
> This one was longer than I expected and a bit clunky, and I couldn't think of a good ending. Will I go back after the month is done and edit? Dunno yet.

Ever since they’d dealt with Troy, nothing had been quite right. 

It was the eridium sphere he’d been hit with during the fight. He was already gone from Pandora by the time Hyperion had come in to mine the stuff, so he hadn’t grown up with the mess in his backyard and developed a tolerance for it. Not that anyone really could develop a tolerance, but low levels in the air, dust from the shards and old mines filtering through everything…it just made his head hurt after a while.

Getting hit by a solid blast of energized eridium had been pure agony. He’d zigged when he should have zagged…okay, _fine_ , he’d intentionally thrown himself in front of Moze, who was in the process of jumping out of Iron Bear and would have taken a ball of energy straight to the head. He couldn't stand by and just let it happen. The first blast drained his shield and the follow-up felt like it had short-circuited every nerve in his body at once. If he hadn’t had the rest of his team to rely on, that might have been it… even though he kept shooting in the same general direction without really seeing his target, and he’d fired off Zoomer and his clone to help cover while he tried to find his equilibrium.

When the fight was done, he had simply sat down right where he was, shooting up two health vials one after the other, but it wasn’t fixing the nauseating migraine that was creeping up the back of his neck and digging its claws into his skull from behind. It was coming on way too fast for a typical head-basher, too… there was always some warning prior to it, and occasionally, it could be headed off with quiet and darkness…or a little shut-eye and some preemptive painkillers. This was skipping the early warning system altogether and going straight into the red. 

The chaos after the fight certainly didn’t help, and by the time they’d limped back to Sanctuary, he fell over when FL4K clapped him on the shoulder as he headed to his room. The beastbot had the good manners to help him back to his feet, but instead of letting him go, held on to his arm, head tilting slightly as they considered their teammate. 

“You do not look well. Perhaps you should visit the medical area.”

“What? Tannis? Oh no… m’fine. Just need to sleep.”

“You do very little of that.”

“How would you know how much I sleep?”

“You snore.”

Zane would have rolled his eyes, but even that little bit of motion was excruciating. “What’re you, me mam?” It came off more biting than he’d intended, but he was quickly losing patience, wanting nothing more than to escape to his room, turn off all the lights, and pass out from an amount of painkillers that would likely OD anyone else. 

He intended to pull out of the bot’s grasp but his knees went out instead. FL4K still had his arm and was the only thing holding him upright, but Amara was immediately at his other side, draping her other arm around her shoulders.

“No arguments, old man,” she chided. “We’re taking you to Tannis.”

“S’just a migraine.”

“Whatever this is, it’s not just a migraine.”

He didn’t really have the energy to fight…and the two people on the team who could crush him into a pulp with their bare hands were the ones manhandling him towards the med bay, so it wouldn’t have been a fair fight even if he’d tried. Not that he ever fought fair…

The moment they crossed the threshold into Tannis’ lair, she started protesting. It didn’t help that he nearly puked on her lovely boots as soon as they stopped in front of her. “Ugch…is he drunk already? Give him some aspirin, water, and a bucket. But not in that order. And not here.” 

Amara let the beastbot help Zane to a gurney while she confronted the sirenologist, arms crossing. “You know we just got back! Something else is wrong…”

“Oh… so he _hasn’t_ been drinking?”

“A little… he always… _no,_ Tannis! He’s not drunk. Will you please just take a look?”

The scientist pursed her lips, looking from the angry siren to the very pale operative then to the beastmaster hovering over him protectively, and decided perhaps it would be a good idea to examine him after all. With a shooing motion toward FL4K, she came closer, lip curling in disdain… but she leaned in closer, suddenly all professional curiosity. “What _exactly_ happened during your confrontation with the Calypso boy?”

Amara shook her head. “It was a fight. People were shot. Heads were pummeled.” 

The AI was actually more descriptive, if abrupt. “He used some kind of eridium attack throughout the fight.”

“I thought as much…”

 _But didn’t say as much_ … Amara scowled at her.

“I believe he has been poisoned.”

“What? How?”

“Well, while we take our power from eridium, a normal person has a far different reaction. Some of his previous exposure to the crystal has weakened his resistance to it in different forms… I’ll need to take some blood samples to be sure, of course, test some theories…”

“Tannis!”

“What?”

“He’s in pain, can we skip past the experimental stuff for now?”

“Oh… of course. Where were we?”

“Can you fix him?”

“I don’t believe will kill him…but it will not be pleasant for him while the effects last.”

Now it was FL4K’s turn to cross their arms, eye narrowing into a slit. “You do not ‘believe’ it will kill him?”

“Well… I… um… will keep him here for observation in case he gets worse, and will give him something for the pain and suffering. Is that satisfactory?”

The bot grunted. “I will stay here as well.”

“I’ll go get Moze. We’ll make it a group thing.”

Tannis simply sighed, glad at least one of them was already unconscious. 


	8. Day 9: Buried alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story that is too long to post for this challenge, so art it is!

[Buried Alive on Tumblr ](https://myfoggedreality.tumblr.com/post/642791215262285824)


	9. Day 8 alternate: Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day in the life of a corporate assassin. 
> 
> Warnings: If you haven't caught on that there's a lot of blood in my stories, I can't help you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know!! I'm behind again. I'm working on it... Plus this story might actually be the prequel to an earlier chapter.

Flynt was no stranger to having a gun pointed at him, even when he was at a disadvantage. He was at a severe disadvantage now, with a pistol at his gut and a very pissed off bodyguard at the other end. The other end wasn’t at arm’s length, either…the pair were tangled in a life-or-death, who will flinch first struggle…which made the operative wonder why the other hadn’t pulled the trigger yet. His boss was already dead, blood spilling all over his oversized desk and no-longer-very-important papers. There might have even been some brains splattered on the back of his chair and in an impressive skull-exploded pattern on his office window. 

While Zane loved a good explosion, especially one of blood and bone fragments, he also liked the quieter takedowns. This one, though, this one was not just a contract to kill, it was meant to be a very loud message to everyone involved.

Unfortunately, the bodyguard…who had failed miserably at his job, by the way…was the first one to see that message after it was sent. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy about it, and the assassin had to make a far more hasty retreat than he’d hoped for. At least they weren’t in that stupid, tacky office anymore… the crimson spray had definitely been a step up in the decor…but he was having to fight this idiot for his honor or some shite that was entirely unnecessary. 

“Just walk away,” Zane grunted between clenched teeth, his hand at the man’s throat. He didn’t get a response, but didn’t really expect one…he had to make the effort, though…his own idiot sense of honor insisted on it. 

With a flick of his wrist, holo-claws sprang from his glove, slashing through flesh and sending a gush of arterial spray across his fingers at the same time he heard the shot echoing in the narrow alley. It wasn’t until the bodyguard had hit the concrete, gun smoking in his clenched fist, that the pain in his abdomen finally made itself known. 

Gasping, Zane sank to his knees next to the dearly departed, plunging a full health vial into his own side before he passed out next to him.


	10. Day 10: I'm sorry, I didn't know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble about a hit.
> 
> Warnings: Blood (seems to be a theme here), not sure what to call this..? Child endangerment? Far too young to be a witness to a murder.

He’d been hunting the man for a week, watching his comings and goings. He should have waited longer, but none of his research, none of his preparation told him, and this moment would haunt him forever.

He stood with the gun still smoking, blood pooling around his victim. He didn’t…couldn’t…regret pulling the trigger. But the little boy standing in the back of the hallway, thumb stuck in his mouth and ragged stuffed bear dangling from the other, was forming a cold knot in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is soooo weird for me to write something this short, because even my short stories end up a few thousand words. So yay? :D
> 
> I'm going to go try not to dwell on how I *don't* need to fill this chapter out with anything more! Short is not bad!


	11. Day 11: Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane learns the meaning of real loss.
> 
> Warnings: Death of a spouse, overwhelming grief, alcohol as a coping mechanism, hallucinations/visitations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I posted three in a row today, but now I'm caught up! I'll rearrange Chapters 8 and 9 later so they're in the correct order...not that there's really any order to this except for the prompt list.

For weeks after her death, he saw her. 

Of course, he was drinking himself blind, but that didn’t stop him. It didn’t stop him from believing it was really her, either, no matter what anyone else thought. He tried telling people at first, but… again…he was drunk, so they took it as the ramblings of some crazy person. A few people gave him a second look…he was too young to be that far gone already… too young to be crushed under the heel of the misery of existence. 

But he wasn’t too young to be in this much pain. He only thought he knew what that was before he escaped from Pandora and the wrath of his brothers. But that was all before he’d fallen in love. Real love, not some one-night fling in a town he’d never go back to. 

And then like everyone else around him, she died. Not in some silly, random accident… it was intended, it was brutal…it was a message. 

Something clicked off in his head when she died. He’d shut himself off from processing it, choosing to drown instead. He woke up every day in some different location, sometimes with someone else, sometimes alone. 

After a week, he started seeing her everywhere. 

It wasn’t some flicker in the corner of his eye or person on the street that reminded him of her. It certainly wasn’t the memory of her in their shared home…because he’d burned the place to the ground after the investigation. Doused it in flammables, lit a cigarette, and tossed the match through the front door. He’d watched for a little while, not taking the same delight in it as his brother would have, but it felt like a fitting end just the same. That life…that attempt at a life…was done. 

She wouldn’t let it be over. And she was so real. So real he knew he could reach out and feel the silk of her hair, the soft cotton of her shirt. She wasn’t floating or ephemeral or glowing with some otherworldly light. She was solid and real…and the worst was that she didn’t look at him like she was angry that she’d died. She just looked at him like she was disappointed. 

When he turned to see her sitting on the barstool next to him, he nearly fell out of his chair, spilling his newly purchased drink as he tried to rescue himself from ending up face-first on the floor. She was still there after he hauled himself to his feet, still watching him with that same sad expression. 

So he fled. He didn’t stop until he was checked into some run-down room in a nameless town that was nowhere near the bar he’d vacated. Sleep wasn’t going to be easy, and he was rapidly sobering up, which he didn’t like and didn’t want. It made the ache come back, and he couldn’t deal with that much empty. He splashed water on his face and debated going back out to grab a few bottles, but when he looked in the mirror, he could see her sitting on the edge of the bed. Nearly screaming, he spun, trying to back away but there was nowhere to go. She didn’t say anything, hands folded in her lap the way she did when she wanted to talk about something serious. The same way she sat when she told him she was pregnant… 

But back then, she’d been so happy, biting her bottom lip with anticipation of breaking the news to him, eyes lit up with pure elation. Now, she had only disappointment and regret on her face, and Zane had backed himself as far against the sink as he possibly could. It wasn’t a haunting…there was no such thing, no matter what his eldest brother had tried to scare him with when he was younger. But she was there…right there. 

“W..whh…why?”

He thought for a moment that she’d said it, and started to shake his head in denial…but it had been his own voice, cracking as breath forced the word from his lips. When she tilted her head and her expression softened, he broke, falling to his knees on the hard tile. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” the words spilled from his mouth like a mantra. “I never thought… I thought you’d be safe… I loved you…I failed you…I’m sorry I wasn't there...I'm sorry.” He kept repeating it over and over, weeping like he’d not allowed himself to do before now, letting go of the anguish of her loss and the regret of everything he didn’t or couldn’t do in a howl of complete and utter despair. 

When he opened his eyes, it was daytime, light streaming through the holes in the curtains. He was still laying on the sticky tile of the bathroom floor, exhausted and head pounding from the outpouring of grief. Stiffly, he pushed himself upright, expecting to see her there watching him, but she was gone. 

He didn’t see her again. 


	12. Day 12: "Who are you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accident occurs on a routine mission. 
> 
> Warnings: Um... none, I don't think. This short chapter is actually rated "Teen." Believe me, I'm as surprised as you!

The Vault Hunters had gathered around the entry to Tannis’ lab, waiting for news. Moze was playing a nervous drum beat on the railing and popping her gum in time. FL4K stood like a statue, infinitely patient, while Amara paced back and forth, up and down the walkway. When the door finally opened with a whoosh of hydraulics, the group snapped to anticipatory attention.

“Well?” Amara’s impatience was showing in her tone, but she still managed to grab the back of Ava’s jacket to keep the teen from running past Tannis in her anxious rush. The girl doted on Zane, no secret there…clinging to his stories like he was the cool uncle in their odd little family.

“Well…there is good news and not quite as good news. I’d give you the not quite as good first, except it won’t make much sense until I give you the good. But again, there is wisdom in setting expectations…”

“Tannis… _please_ just spit it out.”

“Ah… yes. The patient has a concussion, but is awake…”

The group breathed a collective sigh of relief. When FL4K had appeared on deck carrying the limp form of their elder operative, they had dropped everything to help…and then waited impatiently when Tannis shooed them from her clinic because they were hovering. The beastbot had been oddly silent about the incident, only mentioning they’d run into a remaining COV pack. It was nothing unusual at all…they’d all done it a thousand times, but the way the AI was acting made them suspect they were feeling guilty for whatever had felled Flynt. 

“Yes!” Ava pulled out of her jacket, and skipped around Tannis before Amara could make another grab for the impatient youth. 

“Thanks, Tannis.” Moze patted her on the shoulder as she passed by, leaving a flustered sirentologist frowning after them 

“But he’s…” Tannis sighed, muttering to herself that they’d find out the not-so-good for themselves then. Perhaps they had simply assumed that she’d already delivered both sets of news, good and bad at the same time. Unfortunately for them, she had not.

The operative was sitting up on the edge of the table, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. His shirt was off, bandages wrapped around various other minor injuries, another was taped to his temple, covering fresh stitches. He looked up when they came thundering in, blue eye flicking from one to the other, and he gave them a bright, cheerful smile. “Hey.”

“We thought you were dead and all you can say is ‘hey’?” Ava scolded, throwing her arms around him in a relieved embrace…too tight for his injuries, and he winced painfully at the squeeze, so it took him a long moment before he returned the hug. The look he gave over her head to the others was one of confusion. 

“What…uh…what happened? Exactly?”

FL4K shuffled, boot scuffing the floor almost like a little kid afraid to tell a parent that he broke a favorite vase. “One of the Anointed got the drop on you. I was not paying enough attention… distracted by minor annoyance.”

“Anointed, huh?” He nodded slowly until Ava finally let him go and stepped back with the rest of the group. “That’s… bad. I guess. But…I admit I’m still a bit confused.”

“About?” Ava was practically bouncing from foot-to-foot, wired in a way only a distracted, worried teenager could be. 

“Not quite sure how to ask this, ‘cept straight.” He grinned and shot her finger guns. “But… who exactly are you people?”

“Ha ha, Zane… sooooooo not funny.”

Tannis spoke up behind them. “That’s what I was trying to tell you, before you all barged in without letting me finish. He might also have a few missing memories. Such as… everything after he was doing contracts for…” she cleared her throat, “…Hyperion. I would highly recommend catching him up slowly. For your sanity as well as his.”

Shoulders slumping even more, the beastmaster made a sound that sounded very much like a human sigh filtered through his voice modulator. If a single sound could perfectly project a mix of misery and guilt, they found it. 


	13. Day 13: Hiding Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A painful meeting with Handsome Jack.

“I feel like you’re not telling me something.” Jack threw the ECHO back on the desk, where it skidded across the smooth, polished top, coming to rest just at the edge. “Anything you’d like to add, cupcake?”

Sitting in the chair across from him, Zane sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to keep his patience. He despised the pet nicknames, because Jack only used them when he was making a point. “I got what ya asked for.” 

“You usually get me far more than ‘what I asked for.’” 

“This time, we were lucky to get away with that much.”

The CEO rolled his eyes, mocking, “It doesn’t look all that lucky to me, pumpkin. And you say ‘we’ like your partner is actually sitting next to you.”

“Ran into some trouble.”

“I sent someone with you to help with that.”

“You did, even knowing I work alone.”

“So you killed him?”

“Of course not, but if you’re going to send me in with some amateur, at least make sure they listen to the feckin’ plan instead of going off and playing cowboy on their own. I can’t protect stupid, and you don’t pay me to be a babysitter.”

“I’ll be sure to include that in the fine print next time.” 

“Then you can find someone else next time.”

He raised a brow, frown causing wrinkles in that perfect mask. “Are you quitting?”

“I don’t quit a job. I finished the job, and I’m just by contract. Or have you forgotten?”

“No one’s ‘just’ a contractor. Not for me.”

“Yes. For you. For everyone else, too.”

Leaning forward in his chair, Jack steepled his fingers together. “I can offer you more if you’ll work exclusively for me.”

“I told you my terms when we started working together. I don’t do exclusive.”

“I have to get down on one knee and propose, do I?”

“I _really_ don’t do that kind of exclusive.” _Anymore_.

“Then you’re nothing more than a filthy merc. No better than a bandit.”

“You knew what I was and yet you still keep asking me to do these gigs.” He’d never told Jack where he’d come from originally. That was need-to-know as far as the Hyperion boss was concerned, although if he didn't know the Flynt name, he really didn't know Pandora as well as he claimed. Probably would have put a price on his head just for the principle of the thing.

“That’ll have to stop, then, won’t it?”

“Good. We can agree on something.” Zane stood up, wincing despite himself. The job really hadn’t gone as planned, and he needed to be elsewhere before he showed weakness...any weakness... in front of this particular employer. “Are we done here?”

“Sure, sure. Credits transferred, talk to my secretary, yadda yadda yadda. Get out.”

Zane never been quite so happy to leave the garish room, and he managed to walk out with a straight back and a steady gait, if a little more briskly than usual. But his hand was shaking, teeth gritting together with pain by the time he got to the travel station, overdue to get the hell off of Helios.

He’d come straight here from the job. Usually there was time for a stop in between… shower, shave, a change into non-bloodstained clothes. Ever the immaculate professional. But this job… this one had been a firefight from the word ‘go’ all the way up until a very ungraceful exit, and the newbie with the bad attitude that Jack had foisted on him had gotten himself perished within the first hour. He hoped he wasn’t someone important. Or maybe he was and it was simply a guaranteed way to get rid of a pest without actually having to pay someone to do it. Death by enemy gunfire… easy, quick, and nothing to trace back. Jack had definitely been getting more creative on that point…his idea of firing employees was far more permanent than most HR departments were comfortable with.

The operative suspected that was what had been intended for him, too. Suicide mission, no fuss, no mess, no payout. Maybe the guy Jack had sent with him had been his would-be assassin. If so, the guy had done a piss poor job of it. So it wasn’t the info Jack was disappointed with… the data was all he could have wanted and more. It was that Zane had come back at all, regardless of whether the contract was 100% fulfilled, as always. It meant Hyperion was out a very hefty sum for it…which was why he’d taken the gig in the first place instead of giving the CEO the finger like he should have. 

What they’d run into once they’d arrived wasn’t a simple info heist…it was another set of hired guns. Normally, no problem…except these gentlefolk had been ready for them, waiting patiently, as if they’d been told exactly when and where to expect a couple of mercenaries to arrive. Fortunately, Zane always planned for worst cases, and he’d been at this type of job long enough that he had escape plans aplenty. He’d tried to cue his ‘partner’ in, and the guy might have had some skills but he’d been insistent on doing everything his way. There was a big difference in working alone versus team dynamics as it was, so it was a rare job where Zane ever agreed to take anyone with him. There weren’t that many he trusted to have his back instead of shooting him in it. Needless to say, he didn’t shed any pretend tears for the guy when he was shot in the head by a sniper after stupidly charging out into a blind turn. 

Of course, it meant the operative had to drop all his plans and improvise yet again…and had done an exceptional job of it, by the way. Without that corporate idiot to slow him down, he’d squirmed out of their trap, took everything he needed out from under their noses,…and a couple of extra items for himself just for spite…and was on his way out when he’d run into his own trouble. From the communications of the other mercs, this particular trouble was named Clay. The shot was perfect and had gone straight through his shields like they weren’t even there. His only saving grace was that he was already on his way out, but Jack was going to find a lovely smear of blood where he’d landed when he arrived. With luck, he’d find it only after Zane was paid and long gone.

His intent had been to dump the encoded ECHO on the secretary’s desk, take his transfer, and immediately find himself some medical attention that wasn’t just a half-empty hypo. Yet more proof that Jack didn’t expect him to come back… the jackass he’d sent had either used all the med packs like it was the first gunfight he’d ever been in, or sabotaged whatever had been left before he died. Zane felt like he was in one of those kids’ games where the ‘hero’ only had five bullets and one health kit to fight off wave after wave of bad guys. Or maybe that was one of Torgue’s tournaments. Both were equally ridiculous, but one of them actually paid at the end.

In a continuing string of bad luck, Jack had seen him come in, called him into his office to debrief, and forced him to sit there while he read through the files. The narcissistic asshole had to know he was in pain and bleeding all over his upholstery, but of course, he didn’t care…or wanted to see how long the operative could hold out before either passing out or begging for a medic. Zane was too stubborn to do either. Jack could have simply been oblivious… the dark, patterned leathers of his armor did a decent job of hiding blood and injuries...but Zane seriously doubted it.

By the time he finally got off of the station and stumbled into a clinic, his ‘signature’ on their datapad consisted of a bloody thumbprint. The merc had done a real number on him with that one flawless, lucky shot.

Clay. He’d have to look him up sometime when he wasn’t bleeding to death… and maybe when they weren’t on opposite sides of the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the idea for this came from a comment on Tumblr...a 'what if the reason Clay didn't recognize Zane was because when they crossed paths they weren't on the same side.' When I can find the comment again, I'll post a better credit!
> 
> AND yes, I know this is the second story in here to deal with Jack trying to subtly take out our favorite operative. Because OF COURSE Zane would keep taking jobs with him as long as it seemed like a challenge and paid well. I do see this particular story taking place earlier in the timeline than the prison thing, though...some things are too blatant to shrug off as 'maybe he was trying to kill me.' :p


	14. Day 14: "I didn't mean it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendship comes crashing down over a few unfortunate words.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!”

Zane glared down at the text, scowling. He wasn’t going to answer, had his thumb poised to delete the conversation when the notification dinged again.

“I can’t always help it. You know how he gets.”

“Don’t blame him for yer issues, boyo.”

He said it aloud before he typed it and hit 'Send' with a little more force than necessary.

“He’s a psychopath!”

“And what does that make you, Tim?” He stared down at the text for a long minute, waiting...brain telling him not to send, but his finger brushed over the button anyway, popping into his reply box with a cheerful little *ding*! _Turn it off, Zane. Delete it and forget it. Don’t stoop to that level._

He found himself punching in more, though. He’d walked out the door in a huff, leaving a very stunned doppelganger in his angry wake. Maybe the kid didn’t think he could be insulted, but he was also getting sick of the real Jack’s increasing bullshit. Sometimes, it was cute, but Tim’s mimicry…his **job** … just pushed one button too many today. He’d thought the kid could let down his guard around him and be himself...not that deranged persona. But sometimes he fell back into it, and this time wasn’t just a slip of the tongue…it was a gut-punch. So now he was angry, and he typed in what he needed to get off his chest, or he'd seethe over it and end up hating Timothy instead of only being temporarily furious. “ _You_ said it. Those words came out of _your_ mouth. Not Jack. You. Take a little responsibility and stop blaming him for the things *you* choose to do.”

After it was sent, he turned off the ECHO with a flick of his thumb. No more messages. Not today, anyway, and probably not for a long while. Part of him still felt bad for the kid, but there were some things that were going to take time to forgive, understanding or no. He rapped a knuckle on the bar, gesturing for another drink.

“Just keep ‘em coming.”

“Gotta see some creds first.”

Zane threw a wad of bloodstained cash on the bar, snarling back at the barkeep. “Fine. Tell me when that shite runs out, and I’ll tell ya if I’m done or not.” _Stop taking your grump out on the bartender, ya git._ With a sigh, he tossed another large bill on the bar. “That one’s fer you puttin’ up with me undeserved shite. I’ll keep it to meself for th’ rest of the night.”

The tender looked like he was about to tell him to take his cash and shove it somewhere unpleasant and dark, but paused, nodding. A tip that big could take the sting out of a lot of insult. “Bad day, huh?”

Zane grunted. “Lost a friend today.”

_“I didn’t mean it…”_

The bartender nodded again but didn’t offer false sympathy, which Zane was grateful for. This was a place that saw a lot of death, a lot of loss, and a lot of pain, so he set up a line of shots in front of the operative and went to help another miserable customer in the meantime. 

Staring at the amber-filled glasses, Zane raised the first one in a quiet toast. “Here’s ta you, Timmy. Good luck. By yerself, yer sure as hell gonna need it.”


	15. Day 15: "Run. Don't look back."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Zane flees Pandora.

“Here.” His brother threw the stuffed pack on the ground at his feet. “I’m not tellin’ him where you are. That’s the only favor you get.”

“He’ll find me.” 

“Only if you let him. Oh, and the stash of creds you had in it… he took that already, too. You’re lucky you have anything besides the clothes you have on. He was gonna toss it all in the furnace.”

“How the feck am I supposed to get off planet, then?”

“You’re a smart kid,” he smirked at the lanky teen’s non-curse. “You’re smarter than he is. Smarter than any of us…except about this.”

“Fuck you, Baron.“ There it was…the anger he knew had been bubbling under the surface, misdirected though it might be. 

“I know, kid. But you have a chance. The rest of us are already rooted here, for better or worse.” He stuck a crumpled cigarette between his lips and lit it, blowing smoke in Zane’s direction. “I might have heard about a recruiter for one of the corps over in Fyrestone. Layover just for the day. Dunno if it’s true or not… prolly not.” He wasn’t looking in his direction anymore, gaze focused on the bleak and cloudless sky. “But might be if people weren’t entirely honest about things like age…they might take scrawny know-it-alls along with ‘em.”

Baron flicked his half-smoked cig to the ground, crushing it out. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he loped away, still talking, but his back was to his brother as if he didn’t exist anymore and he was only talking to himself. 

“Run. Run and don’t ever look back. If you don’t, you won’t still be alive come tomorrow.”

“Because you’ll tell him where I’ve gone, like you always do.”

Baron paused, but didn’t look back. “No…because you’re right. He’ll find you anywhere you go on Pandora. Always has. Always will. And this time, I can’t stop him.”

“Can’t or won’t.”

“Doesn’t matter. Either. Both. You’re better than us, Zane. Ma knew it, too. If for nothin’ else… for her…don’t waste it.”

He blinked after his brother, not quite sure how to take the rare bit of wisdom that wasn’t followed by a stream of abuse. He’d run away before, but it had always been Captain who dragged him back home, miserable and broken. Watching his eldest brother until he couldn’t see him for the dunes, he sighed and picked up his pack, brushed off the dirt and slung it over his shoulder before heading the opposite direction… Fyrestone…and freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, it's not an original theme, but it fit. I can't see anyone telling Zane to run for any other reason...or for him actually listening. He's far too stubborn for that.


	16. Day 16: Broken Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble about Zed's Meds

The lie of the century was that Dr. Zed’s infamous insta-health concoctions healed everything. 

They didn’t.

Stab wounds? Sure! Bullet holes? Absolutely…although it did nothing about the actual bullets. Nothing could melt bullets inside the body, and anyone that claimed otherwise was a feckin’ idiot. 

Scrapes, scratches, bites, gouges? Yes, but might want to question your sexual preferences afterward. 

Poisons? Sometimes…probably safer not to put yourself in those situations.

Broken bones? _Sorry, me boyo, you are shite out of luck_ …and resetting the fibula sent Zane’s scream of agony echoing down the corridor.


	17. Day 17: Field Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A step-by-step guide on how not to treat an injury, based on a WebMD search.
> 
> Warnings: Lots of blood and bad ideas

_**Emergency treatment for puncture wounds** _

_**Step one: Remove the object.**_ _If the object is small and can be easily removed, do so._

This was going to hurt. 

It hurt going in, and that had been quick. The would-be-assassin who’d done it was dead, so no more suffering for him, but Zane wasn’t quite as fortunate in the suffering portion. 

If he yanked out the knife, it would cause more damage coming out than it did going in…but he couldn’t just leave it, either. Taking several quick, deep breaths, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt and exhaled while he pulled it slowly out, in as straight a line as he could. Breath hissed out between his teeth along with a whine of pain as he dropped the blade to the ground with a clang of metal against concrete.

_**Step two: Stop the bleeding.** Apply firm, direct pressure with sterile gauze or a clean cloth until the bleeding stops._

Now he had to figure out how to peel himself out of his jacket without making things worse. Digging into his pocket for an emergency health vial, he stuck it into his thigh with a grunt… but one wasn’t going to be nearly enough. It would get him by for the moment. 

One hand pressed to the wound, blood flowing way too freely between his fingers, he shrugged one shoulder out of his jacket, wriggling until his arm was free. Switching hands…and now both hands were bloody…the second sleeve was much easier to squirm out of. One-handed, he peeled his shirt over his head and down his arm, wadding it and pressing it against his side where it quickly soaked through.

_**Step three: Clean and protect the wound.** Rinse the wound with clean water for several minutes, then wash gently with soap and water and rinse again. Apply an antibiotic cream, and cover with a sterile bandage. _

All he had on him was his flask, so he popped it open and poured a generous shot over the wound accompanied by another whine from between his gritted teeth. 

He dug into his pocket again for his lighter, then reached for the knife he’d pulled out…a stretch that made his side throb in protest and greyed out his vision for a moment. Gasping, he sat up slowly, readjusting his shirt…not that it was doing much to staunch the bleeding…then held it against his side with his elbow while he fought with the lighter and a shaking hand to heat the blade in the meager flame. The fluid was going to run out before he got it hot enough…

It finally glowed, though not by much, and he dropped the sodden shirt to press the heated metal against the wound. It didn’t cauterize, but it did slow it down. Sloshing another splash of precious whiskey over it, he picked up his soaked shirt, tore off a strip, folded the rest and pressed it against his side, tying it around his waist with the strip. 

_**Step four: Treat pain.** _

Draining the last of the whiskey, he tucked the empty flask into an inside pocket in his jacket, picking it up as he used the wall to help himself stand, staggering away from the corpse of his fallen foe. 


	18. Day 18: "I can't see."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childhood trauma with Captain and Baron: Or, Flynt loses an eye.
> 
> Warnings: Dead dove: Do not eat. This ended up ugly, so if you're squicky about anything here, Skip This Chapter! Includes homophobic slur, child endangerment, referenced physical/sexual abuse, canonical history of family awfulness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my longer fics, probably not any worse than the usual fare, maybe? I didn't start out with this being quite so dark, but...welcome to my awful, awful brain and the dark paths it goes down.
> 
> There is no kindness in the Flynt family, and Baron is every bit as terrible as Captain. This is a family that normalizes abuse and victim blame and, imho, are as evil and unredeemable as they come.

“What did you do?”

“What’s it look like?” Captain rose from his crouch, wiping his knife blade on his pants. It took a few swipes to get it reasonably clean, and he picked at a couple of stubborn bits with a dirty thumbnail. 

The older man scowled, glancing down at their unconscious little brother sprawled on the ground next to Captain. There was so much blood on his face and shirt that if it wasn’t for the rise and fall of his chest, Baron would have sworn the kid was dead. A smoldering, deep line split his skin from his eyebrow to his cheek, clear fluid mingling with the blood and running down the side of his face from where a clear blue eye should have been. 

He’d watched and said nothing while Captain had done a lot of horrible, twisted shit, but this… there was a hell of a lot of hate for Zane in that demented mind of his. Not that their littlest sibling didn’t torment right back, but whatever he’d done, he didn’t deserve that level of torture. Thing was, Baron wasn’t about to admit any kind of sympathy…it would be weak, and a Flynt didn’t show weakness. Not like Zane…boy just wouldn’t get it through his thick skull that empathy of any type was a death sentence out here. He’d wondered how many baby skags or other varmints he’d brought home had to end up dead at his brother’s hand before the youngest would give up trying. 

This, though… might just be the thing that broke the little shit. He kinda hated to see it. Kid was going to end up the meanest and craziest of all of them or just another mindless psycho. On the one hand, it would be something to see, but he’d had higher hopes than that. He could have seen Zane as his right hand, taking over more than just their little clod of dirt…like they’d been meant to. Captain didn’t have the brains for any of it. He was just mean and stupid and quite literally only wanted to watch the world burn. 

Baron nudged the kid’s foot with the toe of his boot, and to his surprise, he came to with a start and a howl of pain…he’d passed out screaming and woke like he’d never stopped. It had been what had finally drawn Baron out to see what in hell’s name was going on. He could usually tell from the timbre of Zane’s screaming whether it was serious enough to intervene…when it went from a lower-pitched anger to an almost animalistic fury then eventually melted into a higher note of pain. This had gone beyond simple pain and into a full-on symphony of pure terror…which he’d never heard before and had been just a little too slow to put a stop to it. 

The eldest Flynt leaned over him and grabbed his wrists before he could jam his hands against his eyes and make things worse. There were a few agonized blinks, and the kid went from pain into panic.

“I can’t see! I can’tsee...cantseecantsee…” his voice was edging up into hysteria, writhing and fighting against Baron’s grip. 

“Serves you right, you little fa…”

Baron was up as soon as the slur started to leave Captain’s lips, fist a blur, sending blood and a few teeth flying. Captain might have been bigger, but the elder had never been afraid of him…never taken his shit, and in every confrontation always gave far, far worse than he had ever received. If anything, Captain was the one who was afraid, laying on the ground, hand over his bleeding mouth, eyes on his brother in stunned horror. 

“Don’t EVER spew that bullshit, or I will gut you and serve your own entrails to you raw. Do not speak. Just fuckin’ nod that you hear me.”

Captain’s eyes were wide and confused, but he nodded. 

“You can self-hate all you want, but what you do to him in the dark… well, that shit ain’t happening anymore, either. I’ll cut it off and make you eat that, too. Nod that you understand.”

Captain’s eyes narrowed at that, but one look at Baron’s expression made him nod again. 

“Good. Now go get the doc and bring him back here. Today!” Baron kicked at him and Captain scrambled awkwardly to his feet. “Git!”

He frowned down at their little brother, who had hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness again…probably for the best…picking him up to carry him back into the house to wait.


	19. Day 19: Sleep Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early military training involving endurance and sleep deprivation.

The klaxon alarm sent most of the trainees out of their beds with swears in a half dozen different languages, heads knocked on the frames of upper bunks, or falls onto the floor while tangled in too-thin sheets. A few of the most exhausted recruits barely managed to drag their heads up. 

“LAZY!” Their instructor was wide awake and yelling…as if it wasn’t his default mode…physically pulling trainees from their bunks by the ankle or yanking the mattresses out from under them and unceremoniously dumping them to the floor. “IF THIS HAD BEEN AN ATTACK, YOU WOULD ALL BE DEAD! D. E. A. D. DEAD! 

Zane had been one of the first ones up and on his feet, not because he was a morning person…he was suffering just as much as everyone else…but he’d also spent his childhood waking up at every creaking footfall on the rotten floorboards or heavy shifts of air that signaled another person’s presence in the same room. Sometimes, to avoid his brother, staying at least half awake all the time was the only option.

“SINCE THAT WAS SO PATHETIC, YOU WILL ALL BE OUT ON THE FIELD, COMBAT-READY, IN EXACTLY ONE MINUTE! GO! GO.GO.GO.GO!”

The bunkhouse came alive with activity as all of the trainees flung on clothes, tucking and adjusting and trying to strap on boots and helmets as they ran. Weapons clanked in holsters and harnesses as they lined up and made final adjustments, trying to stand at attention while swaying and dozing on their feet. 

They waited in formation for ten minutes before their instructor arrived, and alongside him, one of the spec ops captains. During that time, three of the recruits had fallen, one after another, finally overcome by the lack of sleep and the attempt to stay at attention.

“How long have they been awake, Sergeant?” she asked as they strolled almost casually in front of the small group. They were down to the last eight of their original class of twenty…five now that exhaustion was claiming the group. The entire training regimen had slowly picked away at the recruits…as intended. Some of them quit altogether, some of them dropped back into support or basic training instead. 

“Eighty-four hours, give or take. An hour nap here or there to see if they can still wake up under pressure. These are the ones who are still functioning.” He shoved one of the recruits on the shoulder, and the kid nearly collapsed, taking an inadvertent step back. The sergeant frowned. “Mostly.”

Nodding, the captain put her hands behind her back. “You four,” visually dismissing the recruit who had just stumbled, “come with me.”

Zane mentally sighed, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep for a week…but he knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere. He’d be just another nameless grunt, and that was entirely unacceptable for a Flynt. Everything ached in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain. His hair hurt, for feck’s sake, and he was seeing things that raised the hackles on the back of his neck but had to ignore for the sake of his own sanity.

The captain led them inside to one of the training areas, gesturing them in. They were too tired for this… _Zane_ was too tired for this, but it wasn’t unexpected. They hadn’t just been awake for days, they’d also been pushing themselves to the physical limits, and it had broken most of them. All of them had dark, sunken eyes, faces pinched and exhausted, on their last legs. 

“Come on, me boyos…one more round!” He unslung his rifle as the doors whooshed shut behind them and the beeping countdown of the programmed obstacle course echoed in the gigantic chamber. The confidence in his voice was a lie; he had no idea how any of them were going to make it through another course run…not in their condition. Glancing up to the observation deck, he considered flipping the officers off for good measure, but it would just be petty and probably earn him another sleepless day, a week on shit duty, and more than a few demerits. 

The shouts and gunfire that rang out when the countdown began told them all that this was not a normal training exercise…painfully confirmed when a ricochet caught the recruit next to him in the shoulder, spraying blood and sending her screaming to the floor. The team was instantly awake, raising rifles to the ready and scattering for cover. The burst of adrenaline wasn’t going to last…not in their condition. 

Zane risked a glance around the side of his cover, immediately answered by a hail of bullets thudding into the side of the container. 

“Come on out, you little chickenshits!” The taunt was followed by laughter from the other side of the chamber, echoing and amplified. Zane caught a flash of orange from the corner of his eye… prisoners. They’d set prisoners free in the course… it hadn’t ever been live before… holograms, bots, dummy rounds, paint guns…a thousand scenarios, but this one was live. One of the other trainees was panicking, hyperventilating, so Zane whistled twice…two sharp, quick sounds to get his attention. Wide eyes slowly fell on him, seeing but not really seeing anything at all. A grenade fell between them and without thinking, Zane dove for it, scooping it up and flinging it back at their attackers. It exploded partway back, doing nothing more than showering them with smoke and shrapnel. 

He scrambled for cover, narrowly escaping another burst of gunfire, but he was next to his shellshocked teammate now, who was still just staring at him with wide eyes. Zane slapped him, hard, and the kid blinked back to awareness. 

“Come on…divide and conquer.” He murmured, hitting the recruit’s shield barrier and watching it flare to life before setting off his own.

To hell with duck and cover…they were all too tired for strategy and subtlety, so down the center he went. Every step felt like he was walking through slag and his rifle weighed a ton…every trigger pull was a herculean effort and he could barely focus on the sights. He sensed more than saw his teammates following behind his charge, flashes and sparks as bullets were absorbed by his shield. With a warning flicker, he ducked behind cover just before the barrier went out, and he tossed two grenades to cover them while they all recovered and reloaded.

As soon as the recharge notice popped across his patch, he lit the barrier again, and charged out once more. Twice, he stumbled, and he knew he was shooting at shadows and illusions just as often as he was shooting at enemies. By the time they were at the other side of the room, he was on autopilot...reload shoot duck reload shoot shoot shoot click reload duck barrier shoot _ad infinitum_. 

The lights went down when he was standing over a deceased prisoner that looked very much like his oldest brother, and he was pulling the trigger repeatedly on an empty magazine.

When the lights came back on, he couldn’t even look up, fingers feeling like they were attached to his gun with glue, every muscle burning with exhaustion. They were being surrounded, and he just couldn't bring himself to care. Which would mean all of them failed this last test... 'captured' or 'dead'...except this time some of them actually had died. _Fucking corps._

Someone was carefully prying his gun from his hands, and he blinked slowly when someone stepped in front of him, tilting his head back and shining a penlight into his eyes. Slowly aware of others around him...but no one was pointing guns or shouting this time...he tried to focus again on who it was, finally recognizing the captain’s voice, quietly congratulating them in words that he heard but had stopped registering as actual language. One of the other recruits collapsed, and he felt someone taking him by the arm. He thought it was their instructor.

“Come on, Flynt. Medbay and a nice long nap awaits. Next week, you and Karuu will start with the first recon team. Congrats kid.”

He nodded, but didn’t ever remember actually making the walk to medical after, asleep on his feet somewhere in between. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the last. It's ridiculous anyway and I'm tired, so why not? This one is weak, I know.


	20. Day 20: Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane is betrayed by a spouse at the behest of a corporation. Can't possibly guess which one! (Psst... it's Hyperion!)

He was tired of being sold out for the ever-growing price on his head. Truth be told, it was beginning to be annoying. 

“What did you do?”

“I’m sorry, baby! It was just…it’s a lot of money!”

He gave his husband an incredulous stare while trying to hold himself upright on the back of a chair. The poison in his drink burned the back of his throat…it wouldn’t kill him, but it would put him out for a long while. This was supposed to be a safe haven…a place he could go back to and not look over his shoulder.

“Such shite! _*I*_ have a lot of money. _We_ …” he coughed, swaying on his feet and trying to blink away the blurriness that was starting to creep in, “…have a lot of money.”

“It’s not the same… it’s… protection!”

Zane growled, “From what?? Me?”

His spouse kept the table in between them, clearly now afraid of what he’d done and of the fury etched on Zane’s face. “Of…everyone who’s after you.”

“Who th’ feck told you something like that?”

“Huh…Hy…Hyperion.”

Picking up a glass from the table, Zane flung it at his head with a grunt of anger, but it was ducked easily. _Aim was going now…feck._ “Fuckin’… _Jack!_ I _told_ you not to trust that psychopath!”

“He..he..showed me… showed me your files! You’re the crazy one! Why didn’t you tell me you were related to those…bandits!”

“How daft are ya? Hello? _Flynt!?!”_

“Stay away from me!”

“Kev…fer feck’s sake!!”

Insistent pounding on the door snapped his attention to the front entry, then leveled an accusing gaze on his dearest husband…it wasn’t the knock of a concerned neighbor, it was the unmistakable rhythmic thud of a handheld battering ram. He’d been in the fire team on the heels of the breachers often enough that the sound was forever implanted in his aural memory. 

“Fuck. You.” He vaulted over the table, sending plates and the remains of their dinner sliding onto the floor with the crash of ceramics and silverware. His husband scuttled backwards, fearing for his life, but Zane ignored him in favor of the balcony door, using the last of his reserves to fling the sliding door open and jump to the railing, pushing himself over and out as far as he could… body straightening into a dive…hoping he judged it right and hit the water in the canal rather than the streets on either side. 

The chill of the water was enough of a shock to jolt him back to awareness for a few minutes, letting him resurface in time to see the Hyperion troopers rush the balcony, already too far away in the swift current to see him in the dark. 

The lights of the city were rapidly growing dimmer, and it had nothing to do with distance. He inhaled a mouthful of water, coming back to the surface for a moment, coughing and sputtering, but the toxins were taking over, and his gear and antidotes were all in the apartment…where it was supposed to be. _Safe._ In a relationship that was supposed to be just as safe…a haven from the shite that made up his day-to-day.

_Never again…no more so-called love, no more blind trust. Never. Again._

If he survived that long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I wrote this one fairly quickly, I actually really had fun with this one. Stupidly inspired by the tattoo on the COV-Zane that's going around on Tumblr, because "(Not Kevin)" makes me laugh every single time.


	21. Day 21: Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane has a run-in with an old flame

“Bitch!”

“Tsk… Zane.. such a hateful word from your pretty mouth…you don’t mean it,” she purred into his ear from behind, tracing the line of his jaw with a perfectly manicured nail. 

“You’d be callin’ me worse if you were th’ one tied up.”

“Well… let’s just be glad our situations aren’t reversed, then.” Karuu sauntered to the front so Zane could see her again without stretching in an uncomfortable twist in the confines of the ropes strung up into the rafters. His shoulders already ached from the strain of supporting his own weight, dangling only inches over the floor…still far enough that he couldn’t reach to stand on his toes and ease the protests in his arms for just a little while. 

“Fer feck’s sake, Cutty… just turn me in and be done with it.”

“Oh, no. This is so much more satisfying.” She dragged a short, skag-claw blade across his side, leaving a red trail in its sharpened wake, matching the others she’d made which marred his torso with angry crimson lines. He hissed out a pained breath between his teeth. 

“ _Sex_ is satisfying. This inn’t”

“And we were so good together, darling. But now… I like seeing you squirm.” She drew another line, this time across his ribs, deeper than the others, while he tried not to writhe and make it even worse. 

“Fer fecks’s sake, I dinnae know it was your cargo, Cutty!”

“Of course, dearest. But would you have turned down the job if you had known?” He paused too long before answering, and she slashed again, this time across his thigh, sending him swinging as he tried to flinch back from the deep cut. “And that is why our little discussion here is going to last for a while. Just know I do this with the utmost respect for you and what we had.”

Grabbing him by the back of the neck, she pulled him forward, smashing their lips together almost painfully, forcing the kiss while with the other hand, she sunk the curved blade in…inhaling his scream of agony as if it was the finest of wines. 

“There we go, Zane… Just. Like. That.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, couldn't resist.


	22. Day 22: Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain is a sadistic @#%@$^& and needs to leave Zane alone!

His brain completely disconnected as he watched his own skin blistering in the heat. He had been screaming up until a moment ago when he just…switched off.

When he’d stopped squirming and making noise, his brother turned beady, angry eyes on him, but it made him let go. It was no fun when the little runt didn’t fight back, and he so loved to hear the brat screaming.

Captain snapped his fingers in Zane’s face. His eyes were open, but the kid was gone, zoned, vacant. He flipped off the burner and let the little shit fall bonelessly to the floor.

“Hey, Baron! I think I finally broke him!” he called out proudly as he strutted away. 

Once he was gone, Zane blinked… wiping the tears from his eyes with his uninjured hand, biting back the whine that wanted to crawl out of his throat. Both his hands were shaking…but this one was going to be scarred…an ugly mark to forever remind him of home and family. 


	23. Day 23: "Don't look."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zer0 finds his partner in quite a state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with the crazy so far, and for the kudos! Very much appreciated! <3

There was very little that phased the lanky assassin, but the blood-steeped footprints that marked a disturbing trail from the back door to the bathroom gave him pause. 

“Flynt?”

“M’fine… don’t… just…gimmeminute,” came the muffled reply from behind the closed door. 

Zer0 noted the crimson handprint on the door, pushed it open anyway and paused, a range of shocked, upset, and baffled emotions flashing in across his visor.

“Nono…wait… don’t…” Zane started, finishing lamely as his partner took in the scarlet-soaked view, “…look.” The floor was slick with smeared blood, and the operative sat on the floor in the midst of it, in the process of bandaging a particularly nasty-looking gash on his side. Blood ran down his arm from another in his shoulder. Several others had already closed, but still had the blood trails to show where they had been.

Zer0 laid a hand firmly in the center of his chest, looking over his partner with an angry frown pinging in red and staying visible while he spoke. 

“Barely surviving/is no way to live this life./Don’t scare me like that.” 

“I’m alive, and they’re not, so it’s all good!”

“Not good, Zane. Not good./You do not always have to/live up to your name.” 

“Maybe I do. Maybe I have to be better, push harder, walk on that fine line between life and death just to prove I’m not who everyone assumes I am… just because of a name.” He sighed before unlatching his eyepatch and tossing it into the sink with the rest of the gear he’d stripped out of to tend to his injuries. “I’ll clean as soon as I’ve punched meself with a few more vials of Dr. Zed’s.” There were already enough empties on the floor, that Zer0 was fairly certain he was going to have a heart attack from an overdose of adrenaline alone.

“No. You will go rest./Recover your strength today./Rather you not die.” At least not while he could do something about it. 


	24. Day 24: Memory Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane's POV of amnesia but with a little help from Moxxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four more days, holy crap!

The doctor was cute as a button…even though she didn’t look or act like most of the medics he’d ever seen… but so flighty that Zane was having trouble keeping up with her chatter and her rapid changes in subject...off on a random tangent then circling back around to the original subject again. She kept saying something about memory loss and a concussion.

The concussion wasn’t that hard to believe…his head felt like it had been cleaved in two and put back together with industrial staples. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d cracked his noggin, and probably wouldn’t be the last. As long as his brains were still where they were supposed to be inside his head, he wasn’t terribly concerned. A few days of R&R, and he’d be good as new-ish.

It was the memory loss she kept babbling about that he was having a hard time grappling with. There wasn’t anything he was missing as far as he could tell. He knew his name and occupation, where he’d grown up, his stints in the military, where he’d gotten his scars and how he’d lost his eye, even what his last job had been. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. 

Except when the motley little crew showed up at the door, including a giddy teenager grappling him in a too-familiar bear-hug, and a tame skag plunking down at his feet and looking like it wanted him to rub its belly. Feck _that_ … he wasn’t about to lose a hand to that thing, _thankyouverymuch_. 

When they all started talking at once, he just gave them a bemused smile and nodded at everything that needed nodding. No one was attacking him, no guns pointed in his direction, no guards were stationed outside the door, no cuffs around his wrists…so the place seemed safe enough for now…friendly enough, certainly, and he was no stranger to offering a grin and a friendly word to _anyone_. He almost hated to ask who they were…but they acted like he should know....but he never forgot a face or a name. _Their_ faces when he finally asked were almost heartbreaking as they were stunned into sudden silence. They drifted away slowly after that, not quite sure what else to say, even though they all looked like they wanted to do or say… well... _anything_.

And so, he found himself alone in the clinic, checking over his gear. The doc had taken his gunbelt and digistructors when he’d come in, so he reclaimed it along with his jacket… although the gun in the holster wasn’t his. It was in his belt, and the pistol was a thing of beauty… a silvered Jakobs revolver with a filigreed pattern engraved into the barrel. It was certainly something he would have _wanted_ to own…but this one wasn’t his. With a frown, he left it and the belt on the table because someone would want it back.

Zoomer was similarly strange. Someone had upgraded him and done a damned fine job of it, too. Looked like the charge was extended and a small grenade launcher had been added… but it was still lightweight and durable. Quite a feat for only a couple of hours' work.

He was still frowning over the little oddities...like the LEDs in the shoulder of his jacket...when the main door whooshed open again, bringing the slow click of high heels on the metal floor. Looking over his shoulder, he did a double-take at Moxxi…the last person in the galaxy he expected to see visiting here, wherever _here_ was… finally turning around, arms wide and an aw-shucks grin on his face. 

“The lovely and talented Miss Moxxi! It’s been a while! What was it… casino about… oh… six or eight months back?”

“Been a bit longer than that, sugar.”

“Ah… but you remember.” He crossed his arms with a satisfied smirk. 

“Of course I do. Who could forget a Flynt?” 

With an amused snort, he abandoned his gear and offered her an arm. “Rehash some good times over a few drinks?”

She looped her hand through his arm, gifting him with her default sultry smile. “Maybe in a bit. Something I’d like you to see first. Might jog some other memories?”

“I’m preeeety sure my memories are just fine…but lead the way.”

She didn’t lead him far…down the stairs to where the messy commons sprawled. He wondered at the tight living conditions… bunks and lockers tucked into every possible nook along the way. When she stopped in front of a nondescript door, he waited for her to open it or knock. 

“Well?”

“It’s your room, sugar. _You_ have to open it.”

He gave her another snort, not believing a word of it. He didn’t live _here_. Had never been here in his life, and it must have been written in his expression too, because she sighed softly and gave his arm a light squeeze.

“Just… trust me.”

With a roll of his eyes, he pressed his hand to the panel, fully expecting nothing to happen… and it immediately slid open. Moxxi nudged him or he would have stood there staring with his mouth gaping open like an idiot for even longer. He dropped her hand and stepped in as if he was expecting some kind of trick or trap… but the room was to his tastes down to the finest detail. Bottles of his favorite ale, his books… his _actual_ books… he picked one up and flipped it open and it was dog-eared in exactly the same spots he’d marked his copy and that was absolutely his handwriting in the margins. Crates with drones and parts, his toolkit with his taped up and modified tools, his clothes and spare armor, guns that _weren’t_ his displayed on the wall but were all things he would have bought and used if he’d run across them.

Finally, he turned a confused look on Moxxi, and she returned a sympathetic but reassuring smile. 

“I know, Zane. But it’s true. You have a life here…with us. You always seemed like you were happy here…at least. I like to think you were. We don’t expect you to come back to us all at once… but we’re all here to support you in the meantime…whatever you need.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because we’re friends, sugar. And that’s what friends do.”


	25. Day 25: Car Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The number of deaths from wrecks on Pandora has to be staggering...

Sometimes timing just wasn’t quite on his side. He hadn’t bailed out in time… misjudged the hits to the gas tank…miscorrected the spin when the tire blew out… could have been any number of factors, honestly. But now he was pinned behind the wheel, the runner was on fire, and from the scent of the gasoline fumes steadily increasing, his time was running out fast. 

One arm was broken, but if he stretched… painfully… he could just reach beneath the crumpled steering column to his digistructor with the other. Hoping it hadn’t been damaged by the crash, he triggered his clone. The pixeled devil flashed to life a few meters away, looking around in confusion at the lack of things to shoot at.   
  
Zane heard the roar and whoosh of the fumes igniting behind him along with a blast of heat just as he mashed the trigger again…vision blurring in a wave of agony as he switched places, the shockwave from the blast throwing him to the ground on his already broken arm. Spitting out a mouthful of Pandoran dirt from the landing, he looked over his shoulder at the wreckage.

_Sorry about that, me clone-boyo..._


	26. Day 26: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure, post-battle soft fluffy stuff.

Running her fingers gently through silvered locks, Moxxi couldn’t help but frown at the sleeping operative. He looked so peaceful…entirely at odds with his waking moments when he was in constant motion. Only inches away, she could see all of the lines in his face, the tension he held so close, smoothed away in sleep. 

The team had been through hell and back, but as usual, Zane had, as usual, voluntarily taken the brunt of their latest fight…always protecting, always putting himself in danger so the others didn’t have to take those unnecessary risks. The story today was that he’d taken the main shockwave from a rocket explosion, because Amara’s shields sputtered out. The siren reluctantly detailed how he’d thrown his barrier at her because he wasn’t going to get to her in time to protect them both…which meant when it exploded nearby, his shields took the shrapnel, but did nothing against the force of the wave that threw him back. 

One of these days, the team was going to bring back the body of their teammate, and not just supporting his unconscious or bleeding self when they teleported back to Sanctuary. Moxxi really didn’t want to see that happen… not this soon… not ever. She really didn’t want to lose another husband/boyfriend/whatever they were to each other now. Zane was notoriously vague about putting titles on anything to do with affection. He showed it, but never said it…but she knew. 

She’d been half in love with him ever since their weekend fling years ago, but she’d also been around long enough to know the signs of a man married to his job. She still regretted not tracking him down, even though she heard his name often enough from the mercs and professionals that filtered through her bars. It had always made her heart flutter a little to hear his name…that he was still alive and kicking…but their fling had been just that. A fling. 

So when he waltzed into Sanctuary with the other vault hunters, she’d been…speechless. He’d been disappointed by her reaction, and that was fair…but she’d made a point to drop by after they’d settled in, and that had been all it had taken to reignite an ages-old crush. 

‘Crush’ didn’t describe what it had bloomed into…and she lovingly traced the backs of her knuckles in a feather-light touch across his jaw, the rough, unshaved stubble blending into the curl of his mustache. The slight tickle of her fingers made him stir and she held her breath for a moment. She hadn’t meant to wake him…didn’t think she could with the amount of painkillers and healing meds that Tannis had given him. But his eyes fluttered open, greeting her with that brilliant blue. She shifted her touch to the scar that ran across his other eye, the subtle glow of the active ECHO blinking as she passed her fingers over his lid.

“Hey, Mox…” he muttered, voice heavy and slurred from the drugs...but still managed to somehow twist a half-smile out of the depths. 

“Hey yourself, sugar.” She withdrew her hand, reaching for his instead, twining their fingers together. “You’ve got to stop scaring me like that.” 

“I know. Just…habit.”

“Protecting your team. It’s a good thing, darling, but… just be careful? I prefer it when you come back home in one piece.”

He hummed something vaguely affirmative before his breathing slowed again, drifting back towards his induced slumber. 

“Rest, lover. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

_Always._


	27. Day 27: "I wish I had never given you a chance"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some inner voices never go away.

In Zane's world-view, there was nothing worse that anyone could possibly say.

He’d had insults hurled at him in every language in the galaxy, and had…sometimes gleefully…hurled them right back.

He’d left relationships in the lurch, broken hearts, had his own heart broken…but he’d never gone out of his way to be a dick about it. Ever. Uncomfortable avoidance. Screaming matches occasionally. 

He was not and had never been what his family dictated. If he made a promise, he really tried to keep it, and had the decency to feel guilty after if he couldn’t. He actually had enough empathy to not come off as an absolutely unreliable ass. Or so he’d convinced himself. He liked to think that for a mercenary/assassin/thief/professional, he was still trustworthy. He’d built his reputation on being reliable….among other things.

Which made the errors in judgment burn themselves into his brain… visual earworms that came back to haunt him every time he started to doubt himself, driving him into a spiral of drunken angst and misery. 

Especially one.

“I wish I’d never give you a chance.”

One agonizing mistake that was going to haunt him forever. Worse, it wasn’t a job…it had been personal, and he’d never forgive himself for it, and had already wasted far too much time trying to drown that nagging voice that always forced him forward…forced him to be better than that. 

But the sting of betrayal never, ever went away. 


	28. Day 28: "You have to let me go."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death and survival

_He was crying…although crying was really too gentle of a word for the pure anguish he felt. His mother’s hand rested on his head…too frail, too thin, far too light of a touch for what should have been a strong, reassuring gesture._

_“It’s okay, Zane.”_

_“It’s not!” He snuffled, face buried in the damp sheets. They were Pandorans…death was not new. None of them were strangers to suffering and misery and finality. But his mother was the wall, the shield, between him and his father and older brothers. He had no illusions of sibling affection, and truth be told, he was terrified of what might happen if he was left alone with them._

_“You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart.”_

_He looked up at that, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Please don’t die.”_

_She smiled at him weakly, so far gone that he could see the outline of her skull like her flesh was only stretched paper-thin over it. “You will survive, son. You don’t see it, but you’re stronger than all of us.”_

_“I’m weak.”_

_“You don’t believe that. It's your brother talking… you never, ever believe that, do you hear me.”_

_He just looked at her miserably, but she smiled, and for just a moment, he saw the beauty she’d lost in her illness._

_“You’ll survive, Zane. You always will… but to do be strong, you have to let me go.”_

The operative laid a single flower in front of the marker, placing a hand on the decaying wooden boards. 

“I survived, mam. I survived.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously am surprised I finished this, and on the deadline day, too. This was crazy, and one of those "I'm throwing myself into a bunch of new projects I don't have time for and will stress more over, but I'm bordering on a manic depressive episode and I have to do a thousand things to distract myself" nightmare. 
> 
> Whew. 
> 
> I am not doing that much forced deadline again... "my heart can't take it, and I swallowed my gum." But thank you for reading! I appreciate the kudos very, very much and hope you enjoyed the ride! <3


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